De Facto
by fotoshop-cutout
Summary: Shawn is hit by a truck while crossing an intersection on his motorcycle. The after-shocks are a bit different than one might expect. Eventual Shassie.
1. Crash Into Me

Series: **De Facto**

Chapter: **Prologue: "Crash Into Me" 0/5**

Disclaimer: **All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.**

Rating: **M**

Word Count: **1,436**

Author's Note/Warnings: **un-betaed; this Chapter covers prompt 01 "seconds" from table 04 "Time".

* * *

**

"All Officers in pursuit."

The radio crackled to life; although the driver of the Crown Vic heard it, he was more focused on spinning the steering wheel, sunflower seeds spilling out of the ashtray and over the gray suit pants Juliet O'Hara was wearing. She cringed and held fast to the door of her partner's vehicle. Sure, it wasn't exactly their case, but one sidelong look at Detective Lassiter and anyone would know that it would be him to make the arrest today. Blue eyes were glued to the fire-engine red Ford 4x4 truck they were chasing down—the eyes were cold, hard, but held the spark of life that told Juliet not to say anything about this. Let him make the arrest. Let him have a good day.

Her body's momentum rocked with the car, leaving her with the impression she was riding an unpredictable rollercoaster. The pursuit wasn't as bad as some, of course. This driver wasn't used to handling a truck, first of all, and second—her eyes skipped ahead as an intersection came up fast. The truck in front of them only accelerated as the traffic light turned yellow. Detective Lassiter swore under his breath and for once, she agreed. A car on the left started forward; the red truck kept going, accelerating even. Juliet gasped. The truck tagged the rear bumper of the Honda Civic, inertia causing the car and truck to spin. For a heartbeat Juliet thought everything would end alright. The truck kept spinning, the motorcycle behind the Honda getting caught in the crossfire. The bike slid sideways at the collision, the driver was tossed up onto the windshield of the perp's vehicle. Lassiter was already out of the car, even though Juliet didn't remember slowing down, let alone stopping. She watched as everything kept going, her hands working her seatbelt undone.

The bike was crunching against the pavement, flipped over the curb and ended up in an unceremonious lump in some poor sod's yard; the truck driver tried to get away, the unconscious motorcyclist smooshed against the hood of the truck at the sudden speed increase. Juliet was running, Lassiter was making sure the civilians in the Honda were okay. The black and whites sped past, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The wind caught up Juliet's bangs, her eyes still watching as the truck swerved and then veered back the other way, tossing the motorcyclist off. She watched as the body, helmet still on, smashed against a street sign pole and finally skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. Her feet stopped.

Juliet knew civilians could die—she knew motorcycles were dangerous as were the perps she chased after. But she had heard horror stories about heads exploding in biker's helmets and she wasn't so sure she was ready to face that. She was well aware of the fact that she was half gasping for air, half trying to stifle her sobs. Lassiter didn't spare her a glance as he sprinted down the street, dropping to the pavement and dirtying his relatively new suit as he checked for a pulse. He seemed to find what he was looking for and bellowed back at Juliet. She struggled with herself, but stumbled back to the Crown Vic, grasping the radio and gulping down lung fulls of salty air, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was steady, sounding relieved even though she wasn't.

"Civilians are injured, we need paramedics."

She gave all the information evenly and calmly, as she was trained. Everything would be alright; everything would be alright.

Carlton Lassiter's fingers pressed to a neck that should be broken. A pulse! Fluttering, racing and light—but there nonetheless! Eyes snapped to his partner: she was losing it; he gave her something to do. After he assured himself that she was doing what he asked, he returned to the motorcycle rider. Blue eyes looked over the body. He should be dead. Damn it Spenc—

Blue eyes flickered over the helmet, the shirt. Dirty, bloody—but Spencer's just the same.

"Shawn. _Shawn_ can you hear me?"

He swore when he received no response. He was loathe to touch him when he didn't know the extent to his injuries. He carefully opened the helmet's visor, fully expecting brain matter to smack wetly into his face. He didn't realize he had closed his eyes until he found that the man's head was not on his face. Blue eyes searched the bruised and bloody face, already feeling a simmering anger burning. He curled a finger and tucked it under an obviously broken nose. He bent closer, feeling the whisper of hot air hitting his finger and hearing the whistling of air as the so-called psychic struggled to breathe.

Carlton didn't realize he was kneeling there, talking to Spencer until an EMT clasped a hand on his shoulder and told him that they would take it from there. Blue eyes, softened by this experience, turned to look at his partner. Juliet was crossing over to him, more composed now. Wordlessly, he handed her the keys to the Crown Vic. They buckled and she started the car. Carlton's eyes took in the sunflower seeds by his feet. He looked back up to O'Hara and he spoke.

"The Hospital."

He didn't tell her until after they had arrived. She was pissed and struggling not to cry again, but the way her face went starch white told Carlton all he needed to know.

Shawn blinked, eyes not liking that everything was hazy. The lights were out—what did he have to drink? His head pounded, his mouth was dry. Green eyes sought to focus on something. He looked to the nightstand... that wasn't _his_ nightstand. Nor was the IV drip his. Well, clearly it was meant for him, but he didn't _own_ anything like that. He ruled out that he had just conveniently forgotten arriving at the bar and drinking himself into a stupor. His head rolled to the side on the hospital pillow, feeling as heavy as lead. He smacked a cottony tongue against the roof of his mouth as he finally brought the slumped and rumpled figure into focus.

The lights were on in the hallway and slants of sunlight were creeping from behind the drawn shades. Daytime, but Gus was out cold. Shawn idly wondered how long he'd been here. The last day he remembered was Thursday, but knowing Shawn, it could well have been a Monday. He blinked and tried not to move himself too much. It wasn't long until a nurse peeked in the doorway, obviously checking on Gus, but her eyes flicked over him and his vitals as well. She straightened up when she saw him awake. She quietly tip-toed forward and stood to the side of his bed. She smiled softly and kept her voice low.

"Mr. Spencer, I'm glad to see you with your eyes open!"

Her hushed voice didn't disturb Gus, and Shawn opened his mouth to speak, and then cleared his throat—trying again. His voice was harsh, coarse from dryness and disuse.

"Uh yeah. Same to you."

His eyes darted to his best friend, and then back to the nurse. He searched his brain—every last detail up until... Westland Branch Road. He remembered the stop light, he remembered the green light—and then everything was gone. The nurse frowned, but remained steady.

"Mr. Spencer, you were in and out for a while, and after that kind of crash we're surprised you're alive, let alone awake. But short-term memory loss is certainly expected. Of course, there is the possibility that you will remember everything eventually—"

She stopped herself as she halted in double checking his vitals and IV drip. Her brown eyes looked back at him, looking him in the eyes.

"What I mean to say, Mr. Spencer, is that you should be grateful you're not dead or in a coma. I suggest you rest, Dr. Spriegle will stop in about an hour from now."

Shawn tried to take her advice—the pain killer was trying to pull him back under and his body was beyond tired of being even slightly active, but he couldn't help but try to figure out what went wrong to land him here. He decided, under the direction of the drug-haze he was in, that those few seconds in the intersection were vital. His last thought before he succumbed to sleep was that why did he have this weird feeling that Lassie had been there, talking to him when the accident happened?


	2. The Best Part Of Believe Is The Lie

Series: **De Facto**

Chapter: **Chapter One: "The Best Part of Believe Is The Lie" 1/5**

Disclaimer: **All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.**

Rating: **PG-15**

Word Count: **1,675**

Author's Note/Warnings: **un-betaed; this Chapter covers prompt 04 "days" from table 04 "Time".

* * *

**

In the days following Shawn regaining consciousness he was put through various scans and other health tests. During which Gus was busy acquiring the best possible pain meds for him—which Shawn was grateful for, but was too loopy to express his appreciation coherently.

He was in the hospital for quite some time in order to recuperate and be observed. Had Shawn been able to stay on topic long enough he would have argued that Gus and his Father wouldn't be leaving him alone for months after he was declared 'healed'. As it was, he was heavily medicated. It was in a haze that he dealt with his Dad's lecturing him about 'that deathtrap' while barely covering up how worried he was about his son; the hesitant visit from Chief Vick to inquire about his health and possible head trauma; Gus' mother-henning; and of course Juliet dragging in Lassie to check in on him. Gus, in his regaling of events, told Shawn that Lassie and Jules had actually been there when he was hit. Shawn had questions, of course, but he couldn't make his brain and mouth work together very well.

Days after that and Shawn was brought home. Everything was normal (if not painful from the move and irritating from the anxiety in the forms of Gus, his Dad and surprise, surprise!—his Mom). It took some time to convince Gus to go back to his apartment while his parents hovered around, making certain that he wasn't in pain and had things to keep him busy. It wasn't terrible, overall, he did end up reading through a couple stacks of paperback books he'd been saving up for rainy days that never seemed to happen. He also put his eyes to good use, watching TV and playing video-games.

Once he was determined to be ready for a wheel chair (and his pain meds dropped back to smaller rations) Shawn was beginning to get extremely stir-crazy. Gus took the day off to drive him to the hospital, get an okay from the doctors to be out and about, and swing by the Santa Barbara PD to visit everyone. It was a rather normal day, besides having randomly spat out to his Dad that if he really wanted to be better friends with Lassie, he shouldn't criticize something that was meant to help the poor man relax. Oh, and he should probably get a boat with an actual cabin to it. His Dad had been completely confused and insisted he hadn't said anything but Shawn had shaken his head and snapped at Gus to hurry up—he needed to get to his appointment.

The visit to the SBPD was delightful—Shawn had enjoyed being pampered by Buzz (he drove out and bought him a pineapple smoothie, overjoyed at the fact that Shawn seemed alright. Juliet had held doors open for him while he wheeled through, Gus hovered about, worried that this would all be too much, and Lassie frowned at him. It was when he was leaving that Shawn grew tired. It was like a sudden weight dropped onto him and he just couldn't resist the pull of sleep anymore. It was slightly surprising to him when he woke at his Dad's with the scent of grilled chicken and a green salad wafting through the house. Last he'd known he'd been saying goodbye to Chief Vick. His sudden sleeping spell was written off as the visit having expended what little energy he had.

The next day he went out to lunch, accompanied by his mother and Chief Vick with her daughter. Shawn had fun coloring with Iris while the two mothers spoke. He did chip in on the conversation at some points (like when he told Chief Vick that puppies were a lot to take care of, and kitties had claws so perhaps a bunny was the best decision for while a young child was in the house). That one had seemed to surprise Karen, but she had smiled and gone along with it regardless. His mother insisted on buying him a pineapple smoothie as a treat before they returned home. Gus came over after work to check on him. Shawn assured him that he wasn't going to up and run away again. He went on about it rather seriously for a moment before Gus seemed to feel a bit more relaxed. Shawn offered him a smile and then went on to tell him all about the latest episode of The Mentalist.

It was after _that_ that things started to get strange. The next day Gus took him to the Psych Office to get him out of his parents' hair for a bit. Juliet had shown up as they had been discussing which season of Thundercats they should watch (Shawn didn't remember the last episode they had watched, which he blamed the accident for, and Gus hadn't exactly been watching at the time). Shawn had taken one look at her and words popped out of his mouth.

"Personally I would say dress feminine—you're smoking, but I know how worried you are about your career and how no one ever takes you seriously. After weighing the pros and cons, the outcome is dress practically."

He grinned, knowing that there was actual sincerity behind his words, but not knowing where this dilemma had come from. Gus scrunched his face at him in confusion and rolled his eyes, apologizing on his behalf because the pain meds were _apparently_ still affecting him. Shawn had intended on turning to Gus and telling him exactly how much the meds were affecting him and how much brain damage he _didn't_ have when more words tumbled past his lips.

"Mira wasn't worth it, dude. Besides, you can't have a Mira and a Spenstarr in your life. It's one or the other."

His eyebrows raised and he clamped his lips shut, shrugging at his best friend. After that, they went out to lunch, avoiding the subject entirely as they ate their jerk chicken.

The next day, his Mom went back to work, which meant that after she left, his Dad took him to the SBPD. On the road there, Shawn gave a sideways glance at his Father several times, trying to not say anything. Finally, when he went to ask about rolling down the window, the words came out without much warning or tact.

"I don't see much messing us up as long as you keep your romance to yourself."

He bit his lip at his Dad's heavy look at him. And suddenly the turn signal was on and the wheels bumped off the tar, jostling Shawn slightly. Shawn made a face and adjusted his position, looking towards his Dad when the vehicle was stopped.

"I don't think that warranted a pull-over, Dad."

His Father's grim face made him pause.

"Can I at least roll down the window?"

He got no response, but did it anyway, looking anywhere but at his Dad. Finally, after what felt like _days_, his Dad spoke up.

"Guster told me about what happened the other day."

Shawn shrugged and tried not to think about how he was cooking in the sunlight and looking forward to the pineapple smoothie he was absolutely positive Buzz had waiting for him.

"What's going on, Shawn? There's no tells, I know that much. And you have way too many details to not have known this beforehand. The Doctors say you have no brain damage, so what gives Kid?"

Again, Shawn shrugged and peered across the street, watching as people went about their day. After a few more heavy moments of silence, Henry gave a ragged sigh and steered the truck back onto the pavement and on their way to the police station. Shawn avoided talking to him from then on out. Buzz _had_ gotten him a pineapple smoothie.

The next day he had to himself, watching TV and getting called by his Mom all while Henry was out boat shopping.

The day after that Shawn was back at the Station. He had been in the Chief's office for a while when Buzz came in, toting a smoothie and seeming hesitant. Shawn looked up from his looking through case files (that weren't his, but that didn't matter) and grinned.

"I could never be pineapple-smoothied out, Buzzy!"

The cop answered with a grin of his own. They chatted for a bit before Lassie poked his head in.

"Oh, Spencer, you're here."

Shawn grinned and caught a hint of a thought in the Head Detective's expression, but it seemed half-formed. Shawn shook himself mentally and took a sip of his smoothie.

"Yup, looks like it."

Lassie looked over at Buzz and frowned, ordering him off to do something. He hesitated, looking between his desk and Shawn before he angled his hips into the room.

"Does the Chief know you're in here?"

Shawn shrugged. "I was here when she left, so I would assume so."

Lassie shook his head and stepped fully into the room, sitting down in a chair across the desk from him.

"Any good cases there?"

It almost... it almost seemed as if Lassie didn't want to be having this conversation. Like he was forcing himself to. Shawn's fingers rifled through the stack he hadn't read and stopped on one.

"This one seems good."

Not sure how he knew that, but he was sure of it. He handed it over to the Detective and shrugged.

"But I don't know the details. You'll enjoy yourself, though."

A quirked eyebrow and Shawn shrugged, lifting a hand and gesturing to his temple.

"I know things, you know?"

The Head Detective shook his head and stood up, flicking through the file.

The funny thing was that Shawn was beginning to think he actually _did_ just know things. It was intriguing and yet intimidating. He vowed to divine his own future in the bathroom tonight. Maybe with that Ouija Board his Dad had in the basement (that never got opened).


	3. The Tick Tock of the Clock

Series: **De Facto**

Disclaimer: **All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.**

Rating: **PG-15**

Word Count: **2,152**

Author's Note/Warnings: **un-betaed; this Chapter covers prompt 03 "hours" from table 04 "Time".**

* * *

Four days after his attempt to divine his own future and he found he most definitely couldn't do it. He'd been persistent, but he decided that his random spurts of what seemed like psychic ability was actually his subconscious bringing up old issues and he was still being affected by his accident. He didn't mention it to Gus or his Dad.

It was on this fourth day that he wheeled into the SBPD (more specifically, Chief Vick's office) with Gus in tow, ready to get a check signed (he'd helped in a non-physical manner on several non-urgent cases) when the sudden knowledge hit him. The second folder on the Chief's desk was important—_murder_ important.

He wheeled himself quickly along, Gus trotting to keep up and questioning the sudden hurry. Shawn quieted him with a "I'll explain when we get there." Without pausing to even greet the Chief, who stood up and started right in on Spencer when he reached her desk without so much as glancing at her, he reached for the folder. The Chief's hand smacked his, intercepting him and causing him to finally look away from the folder. He interrupted her tirade about his lack of politeness almost before she'd even started.

"No, my Dad was nothing like me when he was younger—or I hope he wasn't. But that's not what is the issue here, Chief, it's this case. It's murder." His voice was so confident that it made her stop and raise her eyebrows.

"Is this a vision you've had?"

Gus was busy trying not to snark and elbow him, telling him he didn't actually _know_ if the case was murder or not (he hadn't seen it yet and he _wasn't_ psychic). Shawn ignored him and pushed on, hesitant about nodding since he hadn't actually had a vision he just somehow _knew_. Not that he'd had actual visions before the accident, but he hadn't been able to just _know_ things either. Chief Vick slowly sat herself back down in her chair, watching Shawn the whole time. Shawn reached out and picked up the manila folder—and that was all he needed. He knew all of the specifics of the case, just like that. He looked up from the folder, glancing at Gus for a second before turning back to the Chief.

"You were going to put Lassie on this one; that's a good fit, but I can help." It wasn't a question. "So the two sons of a high profile business man return home from the beach to find their house up in flames, their Dad's inside. The fire's put out, his body's found, but it's arson."

The Chief held up one finger as she stood and stepped up to the side of her office and rapped on the glass, beckoning to Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara. Speaking of, Juliet was looking very beautiful today. Shawn pulled his eyes away and looked at Gus. He had his hands in his pockets and seemed to be studying Shawn with some amount of disbelief and trepidation.

"Shawn's adamant that this one's murder. I would like you to take him and check over everything again."

It appeared as though Lassie only heard the part about bringing Shawn along and thus started to complain. Vick cut him off with a stern look and he shut his mouth with a scowl. Shawn wheeled himself over and clapped his hand on Lassie's forearm—the only part he could safely reach.

"Don't worry, buddy, I can wheel myself around mostly." For a split second, after he spoke, he could have sworn he heard a whisper of a thought along the lines of 'He might..' before Lassie cut it off with a growl. Shawn studied his face for a moment, but when Lassie only shook his head and turned away to open the door, he decided that pursuing that wouldn't be worth it. It was likely just another insult directed at his capabilities.

It took them some time to get to the crime scene (obviously the body was long gone, as was the initial investigation), but Shawn wheeled himself up to the burnt up mini-mansion just the same. The front hall appeared to be a little sooty, but nothing really stood out to him. He was just wheeling himself around the corner when he felt it: the heat intensified and he wheeled back, crashing into Lassie's legs.

"What the hell Spencer?"

But he couldn't hear him, he was just hearing yelling over the crackling of flames. Taking a deep breath, he wheeled himself forward to peer into the room. He couldn't see anything: just a burnt up living room. The voices and fire were still audible, however, so he tilted his head as if that would allow him to hear better. He couldn't hear any actual words, but there were two distinct voices, arguing. They seemed young, Shawn turned his head, but still stared off into space.

"Hey Lassie, was the father tied up at all?"

There was a bit of rustling, but Lassie answered after a moment, "Couldn't be sure. There were some residual fibers of what could have been rope around his arms and legs, but anything else was burned away. Why?"

Shawn, as per usual, put his fingers to his temple. At this point it was more a habit than anything. He took a breath and spoke, "I'm sensing that the two sons were arguing when they lit the place on fire."

"But Shawn, they were at their beach house at the time, they couldn't have set the fire." Juliet spoke up, confusion clear in her tone. Shawn frowned and he looked around, wheeling himself forward, even though the room felt as if the fire never left. His skin felt tight and hot as he looked around. He backed up again, this time checking before he did so. He hummed as he tried to puzzle it out.

"How did the witnesses see them at the beach house, and who were the witnesses?" He put a finger to his lips and tilted his head again, "And who saw the house go up in flames: anyone?"

Gus had been staying quiet, reading the file over Jules' shoulder. "It says that the neighbors were the ones to call 911 and the sons didn't arrive until right after the first responders."

Well that spelled trouble for Shawn. How were the sons here, but not here? He rubbed a hand through his hair and ruffled it up.

They decided to pull the two sons in for questioning (the second round). Fortunately, they were in by five o'clock—they came together. This showed a united front. So they weren't arguing anymore. Perhaps it hadn't been them he'd been hearing. Shawn stayed outside the interrogation rooms, listening in to Lassie leading the way, Juliet moderating. It was the second brother, the younger one, who's voice sparked Shawn's memory. He was one of the voices, but the second voice he'd heard earlier hadn't been his older brother. Shawn pressed his lips in a thin line and attempted to riddle it out.

The older son was clearly grieving. He was no longer a suspect in Shawn's book. He still might know something, though, so he listened to the tape of the two interviews again. Nothing. He listened to the younger son's interviews and that's where he found it. The first interview he said he'd stopped at a gas station and he'd gone in to get some drinks and snacks on the road home. In the second interview he said they drove straight home. It could just be that it slipped his mind, but he went back to the older brother's tapes to double check. They'd stopped at the gas station. The older brother noted that the younger had been on his cell phone in the car while he'd gone in to pay and grab some drinks and snacks. He'd been arguing with someone loudly, but hung up and said it was 'work related' when he'd asked about it.

Shawn tapped the eraser end of the pencil on the desk and he looked across the desk (he was sitting at the long end of Lassie's and Jules' pushed together desks) to the two detectives. "Can we get cell phone records?"

"It could take some time, but yeah we could." Juliet answered. Gus was frowning and stirring his coffee with a stirring stick. This trip wasn't meant to be like this. He was supposed to be at his real job. Shawn ignored Gus' impatience and frowned. He didn't want this to take time. With Gus pressuring and something else—something about the case—he wheeled himself around the desk and sat at Lassie's side while he looked over the file again. He glanced over at Jules.

"Their cousins were the witnesses at the beach house, but left before the two sons?" Well that didn't sit right with him. Not at all. Jules was frowning and she tried to peer at the file while Lassie shoved Shawn with his elbow, trying to tell him to back off. Shawn fought back with his own elbow for a minute before he gave in as the thought struck him. "Are they still in town?"

Lassie spoke up, "Should be until tomorrow. That's when they fly back to Pennsylvania."

Needless to say, Shawn let them call in the cousins. They came in only twenty minutes later. Immediately Shawn knew which one did it. Not for the tells, or even the lack there of. He just _knew_. Shawn wheeled himself after him and stayed outside the interrogation room yet again. He didn't mention to anyone about his thoughts, or rather, what he was hearing from the perpetrator. Gus watched but said nothing. To be quite honest, it was beginning to make Shawn a bit wary. Perhaps he should just end it already instead of leading the police to the correct person in a walk through? He put his hands down on the table and looked at Gus.

"Go get Lassie and Jules?"

"Interrupting them will only make this last longer, Shawn." His voice was that same condescending tone he used when he thought Shawn was doing something either questionable or wrong. Shawn rolled his eyes and wheeled back so he was in the doorway.

"Jules, Lassie!" He yelled out, not sure if they would hear him or not. Gus smacked him on the arm and Shawn faked that it hurt. Lassie popped his head through the doorway.

"What is it, Spencer? We were just about to crack this guy." _His_ tone was a ground out, irritable one. He always liked getting confessions. Shawn shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"He's not the one you want."

Lassie rolled his eyes. "How could you possibly know that?"

Shawn just replied by tapping a finger to his head. "Remember?"

Lassie leaned back and called Jules into the room.

The neat tie up to the situation was that the cousin Shawn had picked up on had been the one to tie up the father and set the living room on fire. The cousin had been on the phone with the younger son at the gas station, arguing about how much of the inheritance he would get as payment for the job. The evidence came in the form of the cell phones and the confessions given by both the younger brother and the cousin. Shawn glanced the clock and frowned, looking at Gus.

"Damn, I still didn't get it done so you could go back to your boring day job."

Gus scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's not **boring** Shawn, it's an intellectually stimulating job that reaps real benefits and rewards."

Shawn ignored that in favor of glancing toward the two Detectives who were booking the perps. Lassie glanced over his shoulder and gave him a sort of grumpy half-smile. Shawn grinned back and got another half-formed thought in response. Shawn clapped a hand on Gus' arm. "Well, buddy, we did good today. Let's go home."

The best thing about the whole situation was that it was the first murder case that Shawn had tied up in just a few hours. He had a new record to break.

* * *

_A small note: I'm very sorry it took me so long to get my head out of the sand and start writing this again. I hope you're all still with me! I'm working on the next part right now!_


	4. Just A Little Bit Of

Series: **De Facto**

Chapter: **Chapter Three: "Just A Little Bit Of..." 3/5**

Disclaimer: **All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.**

Rating: **G/PG**

Word Count: **876**

Author's Note/Warnings: **un-betaed; this Chapter covers prompt 06 "Months" from table 04 "Time". Oh no, filler chapter of DOOM! Seriously though, this is pretty bad. Next chapter will be longer and muuuuuuuuch better. Working on it now, in fact!  
**

* * *

Over the next couple of months Shawn and Gus frequented the station. There isn't much other than numerous non-urgent cases, but this is okay for Shawn because he's finally out of the wheelchair and isn't sure whether he wants to go running after wayward murderers and kidnappers (not that he shares this with Gus, because he's acting as if the work couldn't be more boring at the moment). He's also busied himself with predicting what people are going to say—he's gotten pretty good with Gus (again, not something he shares with him _anymore_ because after the first two days of it he'd yelled at Shawn).

They'd come to some sort of grudging understanding that Shawn was _different_ than he was before, but Gus wouldn't go so far as to say that he was actually psychic. Not that he blamed him; they had been scamming the police under that very guise for a very long time. Still, Shawn would admit to himself that he was well and truly psychic now (unless he was delusional and imagining the whole thing).

Shawn didn't stop at Gus, either: he tried it out (very, very cautiously) on his Dad, the Chief, Buzz, Buzz's cat (it didn't work), some dolphins at the aquarium (still didn't work), Jules and Lassie (this last one didn't work either, but for a very different reason). He had to guess that he'd have to keep faking it with the animals, but he could actually _hear_ peoples' _thoughts_. And wasn't that weird?

Shawn tried several times to listen in on Lassie's thoughts (because it sounded like a new and improved version of annoying him), but was only able to hear him every so often. Like when he first entered the Station, before Lassie knew he was there. He heard things like thoughts of going to the gun range after work, if he should get Juliet to do his paperwork and which magazine should he renew his subscription for because he only really had time for one. It seemed, though, that whenever Shawn was around that Lassie consciously tried not to think as much as possible. He let whatever he _did_ think remain half-formed, unless it was thoughts like "go away, Spencer".

{_break_}

The dolphins was actually a funny story; you see he had decided that he should see if he could read animals' minds as well (because that would be helpful in some cases). But of course he couldn't just go to the local animal shelter (he actually feared that he would go in there and hear their thoughts and have to take as many of them home as he could), so he went for the more intelligent creatures which amounted to dolphins. Originally, it should be said, that he was going to go try with pigs, but decided he didn't want them to eat him once they knew how he really felt about them.

So anyway, he went to the aquarium (without Gus, because Gus was afraid he'd get them kicked out _again_). He spent the afternoon staring into the dolphin tank, fingers to his temples and trying to send messages to the occupants. Not only did he get nothing for his efforts, but he got kicked out for being creepy. He protested that he'd paid and was just working out some things, but they'd asked that he either move on to a different exhibit or that he leave.

Okay, so it wasn't funny like "haha", but it was ironic that he was supposed to be the psychic, but Gus had been the one to predict the inevitable.

{_break_}

As for the rest of his psychic predictions, he had told Buzz that the dilemma between chocolate and flowers and jewelry and flowers was a real one that every non-bachelor man had to face. That and jewelry was meant to last longer, but if he got all three things, she couldn't complain at all in the future.

He also called up his Mom and told her that beige would look better with the carpet than cream, she had told him that if he stopped by again, he should at least stay until she got back.

The one that really made him pause, though, was Jules. Her thoughts were not inane, they weren't silly or petty or nonsense of any kind. She actually _thought_ about things, and that made her so much hotter—even if she was thinking about Shawn and her never working out in the long run. That had led to a long day sitting in front of the television at the office while Gus was away at his still boring day job, thinking about the conundrum. He ended up with the same conclusion that she did, as they found out a few days later. They just weren't built for each other (as much as Shawn wanted to protest and say they could be).

All of this didn't worry Shawn nearly as much as Lassie's inability to think fully formed thoughts in his presence. Which really should have been some sort of indication that perhaps he was a bit too conscious about the tall Irish Detective, but Shawn hadn't really considered that. He was just paying closer attention to the man, trying to catch him unaware.


End file.
